


Something Borrowed, Something Blue

by brbsoulnomming



Category: X-Men (Movies)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-26
Updated: 2011-05-26
Packaged: 2017-10-19 19:20:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/204349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brbsoulnomming/pseuds/brbsoulnomming
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>He figured he would have learned that when he was drunk, he should stay far, far away from anyone who wasn’t Bobby. Actually, Bobby, too. He should just stay the hell away from anyone who’d remember things in the morning and be able to hold them against him. But apparently, just like in a whole mess of other things, John hadn’t learned his lesson.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Borrowed, Something Blue

John always knew he’d regret that conversation. He figured he would have learned that when he was drunk, he should stay far, far away from anyone who wasn’t Bobby. Actually, Bobby, too. He should just stay the hell away from anyone who’d remember things in the morning and be able to hold them against him. But apparently, just like in a whole mess of other things, John hadn’t learned his lesson.

It was over a year after Alcatraz, after Bobby’d dragged his ass off the island and taken him back to the Institute, all smug and grinning like everything was going to be just fine. John’d fully intended on proving to the dumbshit that he was, in fact, a dumbshit, and that as soon as John was capable of walking he was going to walk right out of there. But for some reason, he never did. Maybe it was the way Storm looked at him, with something old and tired and sad in her eyes that hadn’t been there before, maybe it was how different things seemed without Xavier and Cyclops and Jean there, maybe it was because with both Magneto and Mystique human, he had no where to go. Maybe it was anything but what it probably actually was, that stupid fucking Bobby just couldn’t leave him alone, wouldn’t get out of his head, refused to believe that they were _not fucking friends_ , no matter what John did to try and prove it to him.

But whatever the reason, he was still there. And even he had to admit that it was less and less likely that he’d be walking out any time soon. That day, he’d somehow found himself offering to help work with one of the new students, who had a very minor fire ability but zero control. And that night, when it hit him that he might as well have just put his name on the fucking leather-in-waiting list, John’d grabbed his jacket and informed Bobby that he was going out. Bobby had asked him if he wanted some company, but John had just glared at him and asked, “Don’t you have a date with Rogue?” then stormed out before Bobby could say, “Oh, right. Never mind.”

In retrospect, he probably should have gotten Bobby to go along with him, because late in the night when he was so wasted he couldn’t even hold onto his drink anymore, he’d found himself outside his favorite bar, staring at the street signs and laughing randomly. Which wasn’t bad or anything, but it would have been _so_ much more fun if Bobby was there, and John could only admit things like that to himself when he was completely drunk. He could’ve gotten Bobby _so_ wasted, just as drunk as he was, and then they could both be out here laughing. Laughing even more, actually, because whenever they were drunk together one of them said something and it made the other one laugh, and then they were both laughing, even though they couldn’t remember what the fuck had been so funny in the first place.

‘Course, that had been before. Well, no, actually it’d been after, too, because it hadn’t been too long before he and Bobby had pretty much been best friends again, and that was so fucking like Bobby, to just suck him back into friendship so easily that three months after Alcatraz it was only natural for them to be sitting out on the dock and drinking beer just like they had done as teenagers.

 _Fucking Bobby,_ John thought, and might have said it outloud, because a group of people passing by turned to look at him.

And that was kind of funny, and he spent a few minutes laughing before he decided that Bobby really should be there with him, which sparked off another round of bitching at Bobby in his head. Fucker just couldn’t let them not be friends. In a way, it was almost nice. John’d never had anything consistent in his life, nothing that lasted, except apparently Bobby. Apparently Bobby would always be there to annoy the fuck out of him, no matter what he did, and John had absolutely no idea what the fuck to do with that. No fucking clue, except to know that he was totally and completely screwed, because back when John realized he wanted Bobby, and maybe liked him, a lot, and maybe even fucking loved the dumbshit (another thing he could only admit when he was really drunk), Bobby just went right on being his very straight, very uninterested best friend. And nothing had fucking changed, except maybe John’d given him a few more reasons to be uninterested.

A car pulled up in front of him, which was amusing because it was the same color as Bobby’s car. And then Bobby stepped out of the driver’s seat, and that was even more funny, because _hello_ , John’d just been thinking about how much more fun it would be if Bobby was there, and there he fucking was. John was laughing when Bobby walked up to him, and Bobby grinned a bit and shook his head.

“What’s funny this time?” Bobby asked.

“You,” John informed him between snickers. He was slurring his words a bit, but they were clear enough. The more troubling thing was that he was slipping back into his natural accent. But then, he had a tendency to do that when he was drunk, and it was just Bobby, so it was okay. “Or maybe me. I think I have a new power, Drake. I think about things and they appear.”

Bobby stopped in front of him, and John hadn’t even realized he’d been sitting down until he had to look way up at Bobby. Bobby leaned in and pulled him up, keeping his grip on John when John wobbled a bit.

“That’s great,” Bobby said tolerantly. “Why don’t you think of a nice, big cheeseburger or a million dollars?”

John frowned in concentration as he tried that, but all he could think of was Bobby’s arm around his waist and his too-blue eyes. John snickered again.

“What?” Bobby asked as he started forward, his arm still around John’s waist.

“Your eyes are really, really blue,” John replied. “Where’re we going?”

“To my car,” Bobby said. “I think it’s probably time to go home.”

“I can’t drink anymore,” John agreed. “I dropped my last bottle three times.” He knew because he’d counted. Or maybe he’d dropped his last three bottles one time each, because it didn’t make sense that he could drop the same bottle three times and have it not be broken and still full of beer. Whatever.

Bobby opened the passenger door and John slid inside, then spent a few moments trying to buckle his seatbelt. The fucking thing refused to work properly, though, and it probably didn’t help that John was laughing at stupid Bobby and his car with fucking seatbelts that didn’t work. Bobby fastened it for him and John grinned at him.

“I’m glad I caught you while you were still funny drunk,” Bobby told him.

John started to protest that, but couldn’t because Bobby’d already shut the door. So he waited until Bobby got into the car, too, then said, “I’m _always_ fun drunk.”

“I said funny, not fun,” Bobby said as he started the car.

John frowned. “Whatever.”

“And you usually are. But sometimes you get all cranky and emo at the end,” Bobby said.

“ _You’re_ cranky and emo,” John muttered.

Bobby laughed. “Okay. I’m cranky and emo.”

John grinned. “I win. Hey. Where’re we going?”

“Back to the mansion,” Bobby said.

“Oh. Kay. I can’t drink anymore, anyway,” John said.

Bobby nodded. “You dropped your bottle.”

John blinked. “How’d you know that? Get out of my head.”

“You already told me that you dropped it,” Bobby said.

“Oh.” John considered that. “Get out of my head anyway. You’re always in there, you know that?”

“Okay,” Bobby agreed. “I’ll get out of your head.”

“Good,” John said triumphantly, crossing his arms and sinking down low into the seat so he could put his feet up on the dashboard. “No, wait. Come back, it’ll probably be too empty without you in there.”

Bobby laughed. “I’m sure your head’s thick enough to still be full without me in there, Johnny.”

John tried to decide if that was a compliment or an insult and settled for saying, “Fuck you, Bobby.”

“That’d be hard to do while I’m driving,” Bobby replied.

That made John stop, sit up straight, and stare at him. “What?”

“You said ‘fuck you.’ I said that’d be hard to do while I was driving. It’s a joke, Johnny, did you get too drunk to understand them?” Bobby asked, grinning at him.

“Fucker,” John grumbled, settling back down. He’d meant to just think it, but apparently he’d said it, too, because Bobby laughed again. “What were you doing there, anyway?”

“Looking for you,” Bobby said.

“What about your date with the former poison princess?” John asked. “Wasn’t she pissed? Didn’t think you’d ditch her.”

Bobby’s eyes flicked over at him before returning to the road. “I already made that mistake once, remember?”

John remembered. And a month after John’d been back at the Institute, Bobby’d apologized for being a shitty best friend and focusing too much on girls. John hadn’t said anything and Bobby’d just dropped it. John didn’t say anything now, either.

“You’re my best friend, Johnny. You’re always going to come first,” Bobby told him.

John snickered, because if he took him too seriously he’d end up saying something fucking stupid. “Bros before hos, man,” he said solemnly. And that was stupid, too, but at least it was the funny kind of stupid.

Bobby laughed. “Exactly. It was about time for you to be completely wasted, anyway. I figured you weren’t stupid enough to drive home, but you never know.”

“Wasn’t gonna drive,” John muttered, then added, “Don’t remember which bar I parked the car in front of.”

“We’ll find it tomorrow,” Bobby assured him.

John tilted his foot slightly, pushing the sole of his shoe against the windshield and leaving a dirty print on the glass. He laughed at the outline, which made Bobby look over and roll his eyes.

“Thanks, Johnny,” Bobby complained. “Least it’s better than you puking in here.”

“Not gonna puke,” John protested, just as Bobby slammed on the brakes to avoid running a red light. “Well, I might if you keep fucking driving like that.”

“I like not getting tickets,” Bobby said.

“You coulda made it, mate,” John said, then frowned accusingly at Bobby. He didn’t feel quite as annoyed at saying things like that when Bobby was drunk, too, and talking in his own accent. “Why aren’t you drunk? It’s better when you’re drunk, too. You’re more fun.”

“Because if I was drunk, too, we’d be walking home,” Bobby told him.

“Nothing wrong with walking,” John replied, then reconsidered that. “Nuh. If you were drunk, don’t think you could make it all the way back.”

“Nope, probably not,” Bobby agreed easily.

“Hey,” John said, reaching across to push lightly at Bobby’s shoulder. “I don’t think I woulda made it neither. Thanks for coming to get me.”

“Any time,” Bobby said, and gave him a look that said he really meant any time, that he’d just keep being around to carry him off islands or pick him up when he was drunk, always be there when John needed it, except just not the way John really wanted. No, he just meant any time. That was the downside to being drunk, John kept reading things into looks.

Everything would have been fine if the night ended then, but no, an hour after crawling into bed John had to decide he was thirsty. He and Bobby were still sharing a room, although bigger than the one before, and John kind of thought in the beginning they’d had them share because they wanted someone close to him who could take him in a fight, put out his fires if it came to it, and maybe because they weren’t sure how long John would stay and didn’t want to give him his own room. But he hadn’t cared, because he wasn’t staying long anyway. Except obviously, he did stay, so that argument didn’t work anymore, but what the fuck ever. Maybe John was a little bit of a masochist and _liked_ getting to watch Bobby walk around in varying stages of naked-ness even though there was nothing he could do about it.

Anyway, the fucking point was that John was thirsty. And Bobby was asleep and John was still pretty drunk, so he decided it would be a fucking brilliant idea to go into the kitchen to get something to drink. He wasn’t the giggly kind of drunk anymore (and fuck Bobby for being right about his stages of drunken-ness), which was good because if he’d ended up getting caught stumbling through the hallway and giggling, he’d probably have to burn the witnesses.

It was also bad, though, because when John stumbled into the kitchen and saw Rogue standing there, he groaned. Rogue was pretty much the last fucking person he wanted to see right then.

“Great,” John muttered.

“Hello to you, too, John,” Rogue greeted.

“Yeah, hi,” John mumbled, walking over to grab a bottle of water from the fridge. Rogue made him uncomfortable. He never really had much against her, except the fact that Bobby only had eyes for her, which would have pissed him off even if he didn’t have a thing for Bobby, but she’d gotten the Cure. That was just all kinds of fucked up. So far he’d managed to avoid making comments about why the hell they still let her stay there, but mainly that was only because he wasn’t sure why the hell they let him stay there, either.

“I guess Bobby found you, then,” Rogue commented.

John rolled his eyes. “No, he left me at the bar and I just randomly developed teleportation powers and got here by myself.” Okay, fridge. Now he just had to open it.

“I see someone’s still drunk,” Rogue said, sounding like she was trying to be amused but was actually a little annoyed.

John ignored her because he’d gotten the fridge open, and he had to concentrate on finding his bottle of water. After a few moments, he located one and pulled it out, grinning triumphantly.

“You want some crackers or something, too?” Rogue asked.

John looked at her, decided she was trying to be helpful, and shook his head. “Nah. I’m good.” He started to leave, and he really should have just fucking left, but something made him turn around. “He’s not yours, you know.”

She just kind of stared at him for a moment before asking, “Excuse me?”

“Bobby,” John said, tone of voice telling her that it should have been obvious who he was talking about. Because it was. “He’s not yours. You’re just kind of, borrowing him from me.”

She stared at him again. “From you.”

He nodded, growing confident. “Yeah. You’re borrowing him from me. He likes you and you’re real fucking pretty and everything, but he’s not yours. He’ll never be yours, no matter what you do to try and make him yours.”

She still looked a little surprised. “Last time I checked, John, Bobby was my boyfriend.”

John waved his hand, probably a lot more vigorously than he meant to. “Like I said, borrowing. I mean, just think about it. You go out and take the Cure so you’ll be able to fuck him, and you and him just get more awkward.” He didn’t know if that was exactly true, because Bobby didn’t talk to him about Rogue much anymore, but from what John’d seen it seemed true, and the way Rogue was suddenly looking a little upset confirmed it. “Me? I almost kill the fucking bastard, and he saves my fucking life, drags my ass back here, and we’re back to being best friends. Guess who he really belongs to?”

Rogue stayed silent for a long moment. Then she said quietly, “You’re drunk, John.”

“Duh,” he replied, rolling his eyes. “Doesn’t make me any less right. You just, you know, keep on fucking borrowing him, but he’s always going to be mine.”

“Bobby will always be your best friend, I know that,” Rogue said.

John shook his head, then realized that was a bad idea when the room started spinning a little. “Don’t bet on that,” he informed her, then stumbled out of the kitchen and back up to his and Bobby’s room.

The next morning, through the fortunately mild hang-over, John decided he should’ve had those three other beers, because he still remembered everything that had happened the night before. He kept waiting for it to come back and bite him in the ass, but Rogue never brought it up again, and he pushed it aside.

~*~

It was two years before he even thought of it again. He and Bobby had gotten an apartment in New York City, and Bobby was going to college (studying to be an _accountant_ , the fucker, and was acing all of his classes), and John was writing and taking a few classes of his own, and they both taught once or twice a week at the Institute. John never thought too hard about his current situation, because when he did he realized that this was the kind of shit he and Bobby used to talk about doing back when they were kids, the shit John had sworn was completely ridiculous during his stint with the Brotherhood.

There’d been one time when he nearly left. Rogue’s powers came back, which meant Magneto and Mystique’s must have come back, too, which meant that they were likely out there regrouping the Brotherhood. And people kept giving him looks. In between the pitying looks Rogue got, he got the looks that said “how long’s it going to be before he takes off this time?” He’d been pissed, and half figured that he might as well just leave if they all expected him to, it wasn’t like he fucking wanted to be there anyway, especially when he wasn’t wanted.

But then he realized that Bobby never once looked at him like that. And neither did Kitty, or Pete, or Remy, Sam, or Dani, the new guys who’d started hanging out with them. Rogue did, but maybe that was because he kept giving her “haha, you fucking got what you deserved” looks, and once or twice Jubilee did, but the rest of them? They never treated him any differently. And John mostly thought that was because they took their cues from Bobby, but still.

Besides, honestly, he fucking doubted Magneto and Mystique had teamed up again. Magneto had left Mystique naked in the middle of nowhere, and she wasn’t the kind of person to forget something like that. If anything, they were probably forming their own groups to kick each other’s asses, and John was pretty sure he didn’t want to get caught up in that.

So he stayed, and got an apartment with his best friend, and it didn’t even bother him when Bobby went out on dates with Rogue or (very rarely) stayed at her place. Bobby never brought her over, at least not when John was there, and John managed to stop himself from being a dick and asking what Rogue thought about never being able to go to her boyfriend’s place and why Bobby thought it was a necessity in the first place. Mainly because if he did, he’d have to either admit it bothered him or pretend it didn’t, and then Bobby would probably start bringing her over. So John just shut up and occasionally hung on to the hope that it meant something that Bobby didn’t bring her around, that Bobby spent more time with John or hanging out in a group than he did with Rogue alone.

John was staring at his computer and trying to convince himself to either write the paper he had due that week or work on the ending to the short story he was supposed to turn in to his editor the next week (and only convincing himself that he should take a cigarette break) when Bobby came home, looking nervous.

“What’s up?” John asked, pushing his chair away from his desk.

“I, um. I have a date with Rogue tonight,” Bobby said, shoving shaking hands into his pockets.

“Uh-huh,” John said. “And?”

Bobby pulled one of his hands out to push it through his blond spikes. “I’m going to ask her to marry me.”

John had always hated the heart stopping metaphor and it was something he tried never to use in his writing, but right then he had to admit it was pretty fucking accurate. “Huh,” he said, reaching over to grab his lighter. He started playing with it, the feeling of fire so close by comforting him a bit. And still, all he could think was that when someone borrowed something from you, eventually you were supposed to get it back. And yet this so fucking figured, because no one ever borrowed anything from John, they just took shit. Honestly, Bobby’d never been his at all, not the way that Bobby was Rogue’s, and he wasn’t sure if that was worse or if it would’ve hurt even more if John had actually once had him.

“I know you don’t really like her,” Bobby said. “But I’m kind of in love with her and we’ve been dating for a really long time and-”

“Bobby,” John said, cutting him off. “Do whatever the fuck you want. You don’t need my approval to marry her.”

“No,” Bobby agreed. “But I’d like it. You’re my best friend.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” John commented. It came out bitter and angry, and Bobby looked hurt.

“I know. I tell you everything and I should have told you this before, but I just kind of decided it,” Bobby told him.

Of course. Bobby would pick up on John’s emotions and fucking interpret them to mean something different. John was fucking bitter at the statement because it reminded him that he and Bobby would never be anything more than best friends, even if even Bobby admitted they had a weirdly co-dependent relationship and they both liked it that way.

“Look, Johnny,” Bobby said, shifting his weight. “I don’t know _why_ you don’t like Rogue, I mean, I have ideas, but the Cure thing was a long time ago. But you pretty much mean more to me than anyone else, so...”

God damn it, the fucker meant it. John wanted to punch him, for saying things like that and meaning them, except not in the way John thought them but never said them, because if he told Bobby something like that it’d mean “I’m in love with you,” not “you’re my best friend and I love you,” and anyway John didn’t say stupid shit like that. And for being the perfect best friend, for being everything John wanted except for the little thing where John was completely fucking in love with him and Bobby was completely clueless, especially when it came to how things like that affected John. But instead of punching him, John snorted and said, “Don’t get all sappy on me, Frosty. Marry her, we all knew it was going to happen sooner or later.”

Bobby smiled tentatively and shifted his weight again. “I wanted to ask you something. If, um. If she says yes, I’d like you to be my best man.”

Sometimes John was convinced that, like that stupid _My Name Is Earl_ show, karma really did exist and it was out to get him until he finally paid for all the things he’d done. Now was almost one of those times, although really, there was no possible way he’d done something horrible enough to deserve this.

“You don’t have to,” Bobby said hurriedly. “I mean, I really want you to and it won’t feel right if you aren’t, but if you think it’s stupid or don’t want to do it, I’ll ask Kitty or something ‘cause I know-”

“Last I checked, Kitty was a little too lacking in the man department to be anyone’s best man,” John said, because if he didn’t cut him off Bobby would probably babble on forever.

“Yeah, but after you, she’s my closest friend,” Bobby said.

John rolled his eyes. “You can’t have a girl for your best man, Bobby. If Rogue says yes, I’ll do it.”

Bobby smiled, one of his face glowing, eyes lighting up, completely happy smiles and before John knew it, he was being pulled into a hug. John hugged him back, slightly awkward because for just a moment, when that smile was being turned on him, it was all worth it, but now that it was gone John remembered that, once again, he’d gotten fucked in the completely bad way.

“Easy, popsicle, she hasn’t said yes yet,” John reminded him. That was the real question he was supposed to be nervous over, he wasn’t supposed to get so excited over John agreeing to be his best man.

“Right,” Bobby replied, letting him go and looking nervous again. “She’ll say yes, right?”

~*~

Of course she fucking said yes. She said yes, and the next day when they were all hanging out she showed off the ring Bobby’d gotten for her. Jubilee and Kitty and Dani exclaimed over it, and Pete and Sam clapped Bobby on the back and Remy lead a toast in honor of the newly engaged couple, and _of course_ John was the best man, but who was going to be the maid of honor, and there was an uneven number of bridesmaids and groomsmen, especially since Kitty was insisting on being on Bobby’s side because Bobby was “like, her _best_ friend” and she totally would have been the best man if, and then she kind of trailed off and looked over at John and blushed. Which really pissed John off, because Kitty’d never been one of the people who seemed to resent him being there. In fact, she’d always seemed to be pretty in favor of him sticking around, but apparently not when it came to John taking away her position as Bobby’s best man.

Remy was protesting that he _wasn’t_ going to be a bridesmaid, and there was no way he was going to let Kitty walk down the aisle with anyone else, but John wasn’t listening.

“I better go, I have an early class tomorrow,” John said, standing up. He raised his glass to Bobby and Rogue. “Congratulations again, you two.” He downed the rest of his whiskey, then left the restaurant.

He’d gotten maybe three feet out the door when someone tugged on his arm, and he turned around in annoyance. Which grew when he saw Kitty standing there.

“What,” he asked, although it was really more like a statement.

“So, I like, totally upset you and I really didn’t mean to,” Kitty said.

He raised an eyebrow. “Now why the hell would you think any of that would upset me?”

“See? Upset,” she said. “Okay, I’m an idiot. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up bad things and open old issues and make you depressed and stuff.”

John’s annoyance was rapidly fading into confusion. “Uh, Kitty? What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You being upset because I almost said that if things had gone the way I thought they would I totally would have ended up being Bobby’s best man when you two got hitched or whatever?” Kitty asked.

John stared at her. Then opened his mouth to say something. Then closed it and stared at her again. “The _fuck_?” he asked intelligently.

“Oh,” she said. “Okay. So apparently you thought I was going to say something else. Um. Never mind. Ignore me! I’m going to apologize again and then go back inside and pretend I never said anything. So, um, yeah. I’ll talk to you later!”

He was still staring at her when she turned and walked back into the restaurant, and probably for a little bit after she’d disappeared from his sight. Because, _fuck_. What the fuck was he supposed to do with that? That didn’t fucking mean anything to him, except that apparently he’d been more obvious about whatever it was he felt for Bobby than he’d thought. Great. Fucking _great_. Now he couldn’t just pity himself in peace, now he had fucking Kitty worried about his feelings and shit and if she brought it up again he was going to fucking torch her eyebrows off. Hopefully his surprise had lead her to believe that she’d gotten things all wrong and he and Bobby were nothing more than friends, which was the fucking truth, anyway, and he needed a fucking drink.

John did have an early class tomorrow, that wasn’t a lie, but he’d already decided to skip it when he walked the ten blocks to the gay club he’d been to a few times before. John wasn’t gay, not really, but Bobby wasn’t the first guy he’d been attracted to and he’d discovered a long time ago that sex with guys had just as many good points as sex with girls, maybe even more. And, okay, so maybe he was on the gay side of bi. What fucking ever.

Barely two minutes after John slipped in through the front doors, he caught sight of a fucking hot guy staring at him. Black hair, tall, gorgeous body, and John raised his drink to him in a silent signal and then downed it. The guy (whose name turned out to be Clark) joined him, and two drinks later they were out on the dance floor. There was something about this guy’s smile that reminded him of Bobby, which was a very bad idea, but Clark and Bobby looked completely different, and there was no way John could confuse them. Which was good, because John was drunk enough to admit that this was all about forgetting Bobby.

One arm hooked around Clark’s waist and the other around his neck, hand tangled in black hair and John danced, grinding his hips against the other man’s. Hopefully in time with the music, but they were both drunk enough that it was more about the grinding than the dancing. On impulse John leaned up and kissed him, fierce and demanding, and was pleased when Clark willingly parted his lips to allow John’s seeking tongue entrance. Clark’s hand was sliding under John’s shirt and John pulled away, tugging him back to the bar. One more drink, just enough to completely convince John that this was a good idea, and then they were stumbling out of the club and onto the streets.

John hailed a cab, then gave the address to his apartment. Bobby would be out celebrating with the others late, and then he’d go over to Rogue’s, so John would have the place to himself for the night.

Which turned out to be fortunate, because they didn’t make it to John’s bedroom. They started kissing just inside the door, and then clothes started coming off, and they were lucky to make it to the couch. They mostly fell on it, and John wound up on top, straddling Clark’s hips while John kissed down his neck. Clark writhed beneath him, moaning and thrusting his hips against John’s. When John glanced at Clark’s face, he noticed his eyes were glazed, his focus on something behind John’s head, and John briefly wondered who he was trying to forget.

Then, for a little while, John thought of nothing but friction, heat, skin against skin and the sounds coming from both of their throats. If Clark noticed that John was a bit hotter than normal body temperature, he didn’t say anything, and John quickly got over the feeling that the skin against his should have been cooler than it was. When they were finished (and it had been a really good fuck, maybe because it’d been a pretty long time since John had had one), John fully intended on moving them to his room in case Bobby got home before they woke up. But the sex combined with the alcohol made him tired, and the last thing he felt like doing was moving. He was going to, though, soon, just another minute or two.

And then he heard a key unlocking the door, followed by the door being opened.

“Fuck,” John muttered.

“Huh?” Clark asked.

“My roommate,” John replied, glad that he’d left the lights off. Maybe Bobby would go right to his bedroom and not notice them.

But of course, Bobby turned the light on, and looked right over at the couch. He froze, staring at them with a sort of deer-in-headlights look.

John smirked and stood up. “Hey, Bobby. Thought you’d be at your fiancée’s place tonight.”

“I, um. We decided not to do that anymore until after the wedding,” Bobby stammered, looking down at his shoes. “Sorry. I thought – I thought you’d be sleeping.”

“Yeah. Had better things to do,” John commented, looking around for his boxers. “Fuck. We must’ve thrown them hard. Clark, you see anything I can put on so my roommate’ll stop staring at the floor?”

“Yeah,” Clark said, sitting up and pulling out John’s boxers from beneath him. “I’m, um. I’m actually going to head out.”

Bobby kept looking down while John and Clark got dressed, and then John followed Clark over to the door.

“You want me to call a cab or something?” John asked.

“Nah. Got someone I can call. Hey, uh, thanks,” Clark said quietly, leaning in to kiss him.

John kissed him back, then watched him walk out, pulling out his cellphone and dialing a number as he went. John shut the door, still slightly drunk and content from the sex. But Bobby glaring at him was enough to cut through it a bit, and John glared right back.

“What?” John demanded.

“Thought you had an early class tomorrow,” Bobby said. He had that carefully neutral tone he always got when he didn’t want John to know exactly what he was feeling.

“I do,” John replied. “Decided to skip it.”

“So you left dinner to go have sex with some random guy?” Bobby asked.

John nodded. “Yeah. I left your congratulatory dinner to get laid. Some of us don’t have girlfriends that will do that for us. Oh, wait, sorry, I forgot yours can’t.”

Bobby clenched his fists. “Fuck off, Johnny.”

“Don’t have to. I had Clark for that,” John replied, knowing he was being an ass but not caring. Besides, what the fuck did Bobby care if he had sex with some guy? Bobby’d already been clued into the guy-liking part of Johnny, way back when they were teenagers, and he’d never seemed to have a problem with it. Fucker was only upset because John’d ditched his little “congratulate me and fucking Rogue on our soon to be wedding” session.

“The fuck is your problem? I thought you were okay with me and Rogue getting married,” Bobby said.

“I am,” John replied. “Who the fuck said I wasn’t? You know I think this whole marriage shit is stupid, and I agreed to be your fucking best man anyway. So if you’re going to get pissed off because I cut the announcement party short to do something I actually want to do, then fuck off.”

“Oh,” Bobby said quietly, then just stared at him.

People were doing that a lot tonight. John glared at him. “Fucking _what_?”

“Nothing,” Bobby said. “I – nothing. You gonna see him again?”

“What do you care?” John asked, raising an eyebrow. He must have been really drunk, because he was hearing something like jealousy in Bobby’s voice.

Bobby shrugged. “You’re my best friend, remember? I’m required to care about stuff like that.”

“Dunno,” John replied. “Probably not. I think he had someone else on his mind.”

“Oh. Sorry,” Bobby offered.

“What for? Maybe I had someone else on my mind, too,” John said. “It was a one night stand, popsicle, not a fucking engagement.” He yawned. “I’m going to bed. See you in the morning.”

But he saw him earlier than that, because that last drink had been one too many and John found himself praying to the porcelain gods before the night was over. Bobby had apparently heard him puking his intestines up, which meant he probably hadn’t been sleeping, but that thought didn’t occur to John until much later, when he wasn’t being sick. Bobby stayed with him the whole night, holding back his hair (that was the annoying thing about having hair John’s length, it was too short to pull back into a ponytail, but long enough that it could get in the way when you were vomiting), and pressing cool fingers against his forehead and the back of his neck.

Sometime in the night, John muttered, “Fucking love you, Frosty.”

There might have been a pause, but maybe not, time was kind of fucked up when John remembered it later, but Bobby replied, “Love you too, Johnny.”

And there was something fucked up in that, even though John’s head was pounding and his stomach felt like it was trying to crawl out of his throat, right then he was pretty fucking happy.

~*~

Two days before the wedding. Jubilee was the maid of honor, Dani, Storm, and Remy were going to be bridesmaids. Remy had quickly recanted his refusal to walk down the aisle on Rogue’s side when Kitty started threatening to stop putting out, and then had even more quickly said he was only doing it because he was just that secure in his masculinity. John suspected that last addition had something to do with the way Bobby was glaring and cracking his knuckles at Remy at just the mention of him and Kitty having sex.

John was still the best man, and Kitty, Sam, and Pete were the groomsmen. Logan was going to be the one to walk Rogue down the aisle, since neither the bride nor the groom’s parents were going to be attending. Privately, John thought that was fucking _weird_ , since there was no mistaking the way Rogue still looked at Logan sometimes and by now, Rogue looked old enough that she could only maybe pass for Logan’s younger sister, but whatever. Everyone connected to the Institute was invited, plus the friends Bobby had made at college. The hall for the reception was booked, the caterering was taken care of, the wedding band set, the beach for the actual ceremony reserved, everything was ready and done.

Bobby was a nervous wreck. In a way, that made it easier. John spent all his time mocking Bobby for being a girl, getting him mad or making him laugh, calming him down. It left little time for John to think, for him to remember that he could never win, not at anything.

As the best man, John was supposed to have some kind of toast to give, but he hadn’t even started working on it. He’d mostly been planning on making it up as he went, but he knew that was a really bad idea, because he was planning on being very drunk at the reception and he’d probably let something slip. Which was why he was sitting in their usual restaurant, drinking a cup of coffee and staring at a blank notepad in front of him. He still didn’t have anything written when Rogue slid into the seat across from him.

“Hey,” Rogue greeted.

He glanced up, looking at her warily. “Hey.”

“Writing a new story?’ she asked.

John shook his head. “Working on my fucking speech.”

“Oh.” She picked up a bottle of ketchup and toyed with it. “Thanks for doing that.”

“I’m doing it for Bobby,” John said immediately.

She nodded. “Yeah.” There was a pause, then she sighed. “What do you want me to do here, John?”

John raised an eyebrow at her. “You’re the one who came in and sat next to me.”

“I was waiting for you to bring this up. But I figured if you haven’t done it now, you’re not going to, so I will,” Rogue said. “We both know you’re in love with Bobby.”

John stiffened. “You don’t fucking know anything.”

“I know enough. I know what you told me yourself,” she said.

He rolled his eyes. “That was a long fucking time ago, and I was really drunk.”

“And yet you still knew exactly what I was talking about,” she pointed out.

His eyes narrowed slightly. “I have two words for you: Fuck. Off.”

“You’re such a dick, John,” she told him.

“Duly noted. How about now you take my suggestion?” John suggested.

Rogue’s eyes narrowed. “Look, I’m here for Bobby’s sake. You’re his best friend.”

“Yeah. I am. Which is why I’m sitting here, writing a fucking speech. You’re the one who’s causing problems,” John said.

“So you’re going to be perfectly okay when Bobby moves out, and we find a place together? When he starts spending more time with me than he does with you? We’re getting _married_ , John. That means now _I’ll_ be the one he comes home to every night, and you’ll be the one he goes out with on occasion. I don’t want you getting pissed off and leaving him again because you can’t handle that,” Rogue said.

John reached into his pocket for his lighter, fingers closing around it though he didn’t pull it out. He wanted so badly right then to just torch her, but he figured Bobby’d probably never forgive him if he did. “You have no idea what you’re talking about, and you have no fucking right to say anything to me. I’m not the only one who’s ever left, and at least I didn’t leave because I wanted to be normal so badly that I’d abandon my friends in the middle of a war.” He said it because it was true, and because he wanted to hurt her. Bobby’d told him the reasons why he was so unsure of Rogue after she came back, and knowing Bobby he’d told Rogue them, too. Let her be reminded of it. “So fuck off, and go get ready for your stupid fucking wedding.”

She looked at him for a long moment, and then she smirked, something that didn’t look quite right on her face. It belonged more to Logan, or maybe to John himself. “At least I already have my something borrowed, don’t I?”

John’s hand clenched around his lighter so tightly that he was pretty sure it was cutting into his skin. “You’ve got your something blue, too.”

She frowned in confusion. “What?”

John smirked. “Bobby’s balls. Let’s see how much he likes being married to the girl who can’t fuck.”

Her confusion vanished and the smirk was back. “Bobby’s more creative than you give him credit for.” She stood up. “I’ll look forward to your speech,” she told him, then walked out.

That night, John got drunk again. And considered just leaving, skipping out, because he’d left the first time, when Bobby got really serious about Rogue and John just couldn’t deal with it. John didn’t fall in love, he didn’t, he’d carefully guarded himself against that, so it was only fitting that the only person he’d ever fallen in love with didn’t love him back. Oh, there were other reasons, and yeah, those reasons had been more important, but John still knew that he’d been running away from having to deal with being in love with someone who could never love him back.

And he’d gotten over Bobby. He’d turned into Pyro and Bobby had turned into Iceman and Pyro and Iceman hated each other and that was easier. Except it wasn’t, because he was still John and Iceman was still Bobby and then things got more confusing, because John loved Bobby and Pyro hated Iceman and John was Pyro and Bobby was Iceman, so John was in love with Bobby and hating him at the same time. He still hated him. Hated him because he was the only person that had managed to work his way into John’s thoughts, was the only one who’d managed to make John love him. And Bobby was the only one who loved John back, because John knew Bobby loved him, he just wasn’t in love with him, and that was the one fucking little word that made all the difference.

John had gotten over Bobby, except he never really had, he’d just pushed him away until he could pretend he had. And even if John left now, he’d never get over Bobby, and it was really fucking pathetic, but just the thought of leaving Bobby now was too much to stomach. Leaving Bobby at the altar. It’d be just like that, because Bobby would be stuck without a best man and, in all honesty, Bobby’d probably cancel the wedding. Or maybe he’d just go on, try to be happy even though his best friend was a selfish jerk, and John couldn’t leave, anyway, because he didn’t want to be the one to hurt Bobby or the one to prove Rogue right.

He could handle it. He could handle it when Bobby packed up his things and moved in with Rogue, when John had to move into a one-bedroom apartment because he couldn’t afford rent on the place he and Bobby shared. He could handle it so much that he picked up a Real Estate pamphlet and began looking for one bedroom apartments and even found the perfect fucking one, the one he’d move into and have Bobby over every once in awhile. And then Bobby would go back home to Rogue, and John would be alone, and he could handle that.

Except no, he really couldn’t, and that made his stomach turn almost as much as the thought of just leaving.

“I am so royally fucked,” John announced, earning weird looks from the people who were in the same café as him. He’d gone in there for coffee, but he couldn’t remember what he ordered, and when he took a sip it tasted disgusting.

And for some reason, he decided right then that he was going to have to tell Bobby everything. Lay it all out on the table, let Bobby decide what to do, and then John wouldn’t have to decide between two choices when he couldn’t live with either.

It was morning by then, and John wasn’t really drunk anymore, but he was slightly tipsy and mind-fucked from staying up all night, just enough that it really seemed like a good idea to go back to their apartment and tell Bobby everything.

Bobby was sitting on the couch when he got back, looking even more worried than he usually was lately, and there was a phone in his hand.

“Who’re you calling?’ John asked as he closed the door behind him.

Bobby stood up, and instantly looked relieved. “You. Again. Dumbass. Answer your phone, I was freaking out.”

“Oh,” John said, fishing around in his pocket and pulling out his phone. “Sorry. I put it on silent so I could work on the speech.”

“You were working on it all night?” Bobby asked.

“Uh. No, forgot to turn it back on. Listen, Bobby, there’s something I need to tell you,” John said. He needed to do this before he completely sobered up and realized it was a very bad idea.

Bobby’s eyes got concerned again. “What is it? Are you okay?”

“Depends,” John said, then decided to fuck with trying to find the words for this. Bobby’d moved close enough that John could just take a few steps, grab Bobby’s shirt, and pull him down for a kiss. For a brief moment, the kiss was amazing, cool lips soft and pliable against his, but then Bobby pulled back.

His eyes were wide, and he looked nervous. “Johnny? Are you drunk?”

“Kind of,” John admitted. “But that doesn’t change anything.”

“Um, yeah, it pretty much does,” Bobby said. “Because I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t grab me and kiss me if you were sober.”

“No, because I’d convince myself not to,” John replied. “But it doesn’t mean I wouldn’t fucking want to.”

“You want to kiss me?” Bobby asked, blinking rapidly.

“No, I kissed you just now because I’m completely disgusted at the idea,” John retorted.

Bobby’s eyes were wide again, and darting around like he expected someone to jump out with a camera yelling, “Gotcha!” or something like that. “But. You. We. You’re my best friend.”

“And I want to fuck you,” John informed him.

Bobby’s eyes darkened slightly. “That’s exactly what everyone wants to hear. Wow, John, thanks. I’m so flattered.”

Bobby called him John. He never did that. John winced. “Well, then what do you want to hear? That I’m in love with you? Because I am. I really fucking am. I tried not to be, but you kept fucking pulling me back in. This is all your fault, you know.”

“For a writer, you really fail at romantic love confessions, Johnny,” Bobby said, his voice shaking slightly.

“Yeah, well, it’s fucking easier to think of things when you get to edit and haven’t stayed up all night drinking,” John replied. “I fucking love you. Is that better?”

“No,” Bobby said. He started pacing. “You fucking pick now to tell me this? Fuck, Johnny! I’m getting _married_ tomorrow. To Rogue. To the woman I love. You couldn’t have maybe, maybe done this sooner? Like, any time in the past four years?”

“Fuck, Drake, arrogance much? How do you know that I’ve been in love with you this whole time?” John demanded.

Bobby stopped, standing still. “How long?”

John didn’t say anything.

“Before or after you left?” Bobby pressed.

“Before,” John said quietly.

Bobby nodded. Then he picked up a textbook from the coffee table and chucked it against the wall.

John blinked. “You’re taking this a lot better than I thought.”

“Me throwing shit is a lot better than you thought?” Bobby asked.

John shrugged. “I figured you’d completely freak out and be too uncomfortable to be around me anymore. Instead you’re just complaining that I didn’t tell you sooner like it would’ve made a difference if I did.”

Bobby hesitated. “Maybe it would have.”

John told his hopes to fucking stay where they were, but they didn’t listen to him and started to creep upwards. “What?”

“I don’t fucking know,” Bobby said. “You just, you can’t just come in here the day before my wedding and tell me you’re in love with me. What did you think was going to happen? What’s this supposed to do except make things really awkward and give me yet another fucking thing to worry about and, and I can’t be here right now.”

Without another word, Bobby walked out the door. John looked around the apartment. He was starting to sober up now, enough that he knew he should have just fucking kept his mouth shut. Because now Bobby couldn’t be there and he couldn’t be there, either. John looked down and saw the Real Estate ad still clutched in his hand, and pulled out his cell to make a call.

~*~

The one bedroom apartment was just as perfect as John thought it would have been. It was a little bit expensive for him to pay on his own, but he could manage it, and he signed the paperwork and could move in to the place in a month. Armed with this, John headed back to the apartment he was sharing with Bobby. He could show him that he really was okay with Bobby getting married to Rogue, that he’d gone and gotten his own apartment so Bobby and Rogue could move in together, that everything he’d said was just because he was drunk. And it fucking tore at him to think about saying that, but when he wasn’t drunk he realized it would be better than trying to leave and start over.

Bobby was sitting on the same couch as he had been that morning when John walked into the apartment. He was holding something again, too, although this time it was too small to be a phone.

“Hey,” John said quietly.

“Hey,” Bobby returned.

“I’m an ass,” John admitted.

“Yeah, you are,” Bobby agreed.

“And I just wanted to-” John started, but this time Bobby was the one who cut him off.

“The wedding’s off,” Bobby told him.

John froze, not entirely sure he’d heard Bobby right. “What?”

“I talked to Rogue. Pretty much all day. I love her, I do, but…It’s pretty much always been you,” Bobby said.

John kept staring at him. He really should have a fucking response for this, but all he could think was that this was all some big cosmic joke. “What?”

“I’m in love with you, too,” Bobby said.

Big. Cosmic. Joke. That really wasn’t fucking funny. “Are you serious?”

Bobby scowled at him. “No, I’m just telling you this to fuck with you.”

That shook John enough to wake him up a bit. “But you’re straight. Aren’t you?”

“Kind of. I don’t know.” Bobby shrugged. “Can you just, say something that’s not a question?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, is this fucking inconveniencing you? When the fucking guy I’ve held a torch for, for fucking years, who’s never shown the slightest bit of interest in more than a platonic relationship with me and is fucking engaged to a really hot chick tells me that he’s in love with me, I think I’m fucking allowed a few minutes to ask questions,” John retorted.

“I had a crush on you, for a little bit. But it was confusing and I didn’t actually wonder if maybe I sort of loved you until you left and I realized just how much I missed you. But I loved Rogue, too, and she loved me back and you didn’t, so.” Bobby bit his lower lip. “And then when you came back I just convinced myself that it was all platonic and you weren’t interested and I really did love Rogue, so it worked pretty well.”

“So basically what you’re telling me is that if you hadn’t been a fucking dumbass and spoke up before, all of this could’ve been avoided and we could be having sex right now?” John asked.

Bobby glared at him. “You could’ve said something, too.”

“I did,” John replied. “Remember? This morning and you yelled at me about timing.”

“You had shitty timing,” Bobby protested.

John shook his head. “No, shitty timing would have been during my speech tomorrow, because the way things were going that’s what would have happened. Besides, I’d say this is-” And Bobby cut him off for the second time that night, but this time John didn’t really care, because Bobby shut him up by kissing him.

John expected Bobby to pull away too soon, but he didn’t, and he didn’t even object when John deepened the kiss. Something fell to the floor with a soft clatter, but John was too preoccupied to care what it was, especially when cool fingers curled gently around the back of his neck. John grabbed Bobby’s shirt and pulled him closer, pressing their bodies together. It still wasn’t as close as John would have liked, but Bobby seemed content to just stand there. John might’ve wondered if Bobby was really as interested in this, but Bobby seemed pretty damn into the kissing and when John took a chance and rocked his hips against Bobby’s, he got solid proof that, yeah, Bobby was fucking interested.

Bobby gasped softly into his mouth and broke the kiss, but he didn’t pull away and just panted slightly, lips barely an inch away from John’s.

John wracked his brain, searching for something to say, and for some completely unknown reason decided to settle on, “How did Rogue take it?”

Bobby gave a slightly disbelieving chuckle and rested his forehead against John’s. “Are you seriously asking me that question right now?”

Yeah, apparently John was seriously fucking asking him that question when what he really should be doing was kissing Bobby again before either of them came to their senses or something. “Hey, I’d like to know if I should be ready for her to fucking charge in here and touch me or something.”

“She was pissed,” Bobby admitted. “A lot. But we talked, and then Logan called, and he seemed pretty pleased at the news.”

John snorted. “I bet. Is he going to be gunning for you?”

“I don’t think so,” Bobby said. “He was on his way over to her place when I left.”

John smoothed his hand down Bobby’s shirt, toying with the hem. “Heh. They make one fucked up pair.”

“Like we have room to talk?” Bobby asked.

Huh. Good point. “So let’s not talk,” John suggested, and kissed Bobby again.

This time, though, John wasn’t content with just kissing, and he slid his hand under Bobby’s shirt, fingers playing along cool skin and firm muscle. He tugged impatiently at the fabric, like he could get Bobby’s shirt off without having to break their kiss if he just pulled hard enough. Unless he ripped it, though, that was sadly impossible, and John doubted Bobby’d be very pleased with him if he ripped his shirt. So he pushed the shirt up a bit, and then realized that he really needed to fucking _pay more attention_ to what Bobby was wearing because there were _buttons_ and he could undo them.

John probably should have waited until after he was done unbuttoning Bobby’s shirt, but John fucking hated waiting and he flicked his tongue out, running it across Bobby’s lips until they parted. Bobby’s mouth was cool, just enough that John could feel the temperature difference, and he swirled his tongue around Bobby’s. Bobby made a soft sound, low in his throat, and the next thing John knew, Bobby’s tongue was in his mouth. Bobby must have lowered his temperature a little bit, because his tongue was almost cold as he stroked it across the sensitive roof of John’s mouth. John’s hips rocked involuntarily, grinding against Bobby’s, and his hands fumbled hurriedly at the buttons on Bobby’s shirt, popping a few of them off as he pushed Bobby’s shirt open.

Bobby’s hand was still on John’s neck, so he couldn’t pull the shirt completely off, but it was open enough to reveal plenty of bare skin for John to run his hands over. Bobby’s muscles were slightly tense under his touch, but relaxed the more John traced his fingers across them. Bobby pulled away, panting again, but this time instead of saying anything John just pushed Bobby’s shirt over his shoulders and the rest of the way off, tossing it aside. Bobby hesitated for a moment, then his hands were pulling at John’s shirt. John helped him, chucking off his shirt and dropping it on the floor as well.

It landed on top of his foot and he glanced down as he went to kick it off. Something sparkly caught his eye, and he saw an open ring box with what used to be Rogue’s ring in it. Must have been what Bobby was holding, what had fallen when they started kissing. In a moment of stupid, pointless pettiness, John kicked his shirt in its direction and was pleased when the shirt landed on top of it and covered it.

Bobby was staring at him, looking kind of unsure, so John hooked his index finger under the waistband of Bobby’s pants and tugged.

“My room?” John asked, starting for it without waiting for an answer.

He wasn’t _quite_ confident enough to go without looking, though, and was gratified (not fucking relieved, damn it) when he saw Bobby immediately going with him, nearly tripping over his fallen shirt before catching himself. John kicked off his shoes while Bobby closed the door behind them. John wasn’t fucking sure _why_ , because no one else lived there, but whatever the hell Bobby wanted to do was fine, and then Bobby was suddenly kissing him again.

John moved them backwards, towards the bed, and when he pulled them both down onto it, Bobby climbed on top of him. For a moment, John considered asking Bobby if he even knew what the fuck to do on top, but didn’t because he didn’t really want to know exactly _how_ creative he’d gotten with Rogue, and anyway, Bobby straddling his hips was enough to make his higher brain functions pretty much completely shut off.

Bobby leaned down towards him, and John expected another kiss, but Bobby stopped with their lips a few inches apart. John was ready to voice a complaint, but then he felt Bobby’s cool hand against his cheek, his thumb stroking along his jawline. John tilted his head into the touch, and Bobby moved his hand to trace his thumb across John’s lower lip. The touch was light, teasing, and John retaliated by parting his lips and swirling his tongue across the tip of Bobby’s thumb.

Another soft, pleased sound escaped Bobby’s throat and then Bobby pulled his hand away, scraping short fingernails down the side of John’s neck and then across his collarbone. He smoothed his hand down John’s chest, his thumb brushing over one of John’s nipples. Bobby pinched it softly and John arched upwards. Bobby grinned as his hand traveled lower, fingers playing down the center of John’s stomach, hovering around his navel and drawing tantalizingly close to the waistband of his pants. Bobby’s thumb slid under John’s jeans, rubbing in small circles against his skin, closer and closer until he stopped and moved back up to repeat the process in reverse.

Bobby ran his hands over every inch of John’s bare skin, exploring, soft ghosting touches that were hesitant at first and then moved with more confidence as John reacted, squirming when he reached sensitive spots and arching into his hands. God, Bobby’s fucking _hands_ , and John nearly made a comment about Bobby being all hands, but thinking that made him realize that Bobby still hadn’t kissed him. Which was only a problem because John had a suspicion that he knew why, and it had to do with the main thing he really didn’t want to think about right then; Bobby and Rogue together.

“You can fucking kiss me, you know,” John informed him.

Bobby blinked, and John didn’t have to be a telepath to know that he was thinking something along the lines of _shit_. “Sorry.”

“Quit apologizing and do it,” John replied.

Bobby obeyed, and in his eagerness, his teeth scraped slightly across John’s lower lip. John bucked his hips against Bobby’s, and Bobby must have taken that as encouragement, because he did it again. John decided right then that it was really fucking past time for their pants to be gone and he reached down to unbutton and unzip his. He’d gotten them undone and was shifting around to try and push them down when Bobby hesitated and pulled back.

“What?” John asked, wavering between being fucking pissed off and slightly worried that Bobby was freaking out.

“Nothing. I just. Are we going too fast? I mean, yesterday I was engaged to Rogue and I was pretty sure I was mostly straight and I didn’t even know you liked me and –”

“You are such a fucking _girl_ , Bobby,” John told him, reaching up to fumble with Bobby’s zipper and brushing his hand against Bobby’s erection through his pants. “I like you. I think this proves you’re not completely straight. If you say Rogue’s name again, I’ll punch you, and if we don’t start going _faster_ I’ll kick you out and finish myself. That answer your questions?”

Apparently it did, because Bobby shifted so he could take off his pants and boxers and John took the opportunity to push his jeans the rest of the way down. Bobby leaned down again, kissing his mouth once before trailing kisses along his jaw.

“I’m not,” Bobby murmured against John’s skin.

“Not what?” John asked.

“Thinking of anyone but you.” Bobby pressed his lips against the spot just under John’s ear and began sucking on it.

John groaned and thrust his hips upwards, which prompted another moan as his bare erection slid against Bobby’s. Bobby’s breath hitched and his sucking faltered, and John grinned. Bobby may have been on top, but that didn’t mean John couldn’t take charge. He doubted Bobby’d ever been with another guy, after all. John slid his hand between them and wrapped his fingers around Bobby’s cock, giving it a long, slow stroke.

The reaction was instantaneous. Bobby gasped, jerked, and thrust against John’s hand. John stroked him again, still slow, despite the fact that Bobby’s hips were thrusting in quick, jerking motions. Bobby made a frustrated noise and his hand slipped between their bodies as well. John was ready to slap Bobby’s hand away and continue on as he pleased, but instead of reaching for his own cock, Bobby slid his fingers around John’s. Bobby’s grip was slightly hesitant, his fingers cool against John’s heat, and now it was John’s turn to buck as Bobby moved his hand.

Fuck. Oh, fuck. That had so not been part of the plan. Fuck Bobby and his stupid taking things into his own hands (fucking literally, which would have been amusing if John was thinking about anything but Bobby’s hand around him and the feel of Bobby’s cock in his own hand) and now John was moaning, thrusting his hips upwards in time with Bobby’s.

Bobby kissed him again, and this time when John stroked his tongue into Bobby’s mouth, Bobby caught it with his teeth and dragged them down it. This was accompanied by another stroke of Bobby’s hand and John almost lost it right there, but he held on, just long enough for Bobby to go back to the spot under his ear and start sucking again. John pumped his hand down Bobby’s erection, hard and fast. Bobby paused to murmur, “Fuck, _Johnny_ ,” and then maybe he’d intended to go back to sucking but had been a little too eager, or maybe he’d intended exactly what he did, but his teeth grazed sharply on the skin he’d just been sucking at.

Maybe it was that, or maybe it was Bobby saying his name the way he’d said it a few times in John’s best dreams, or maybe it was something of both, but John bucked his hips one last time and came, hard, hard enough that he didn’t even know exactly what he said. He was positive it was “fuck” and hoped it was just that, but he was pretty sure Bobby’s name was somewhere in there, too. Bobby thrust against him a few more times and John made an attempt at moving his hand again, but it didn’t matter because it was only a few seconds before Bobby was caught in his own orgasm.

Head tilted, muscles straining, and Bobby was fucking _gorgeous_ and John wanted to keep looking and never stop, but then Bobby’s too-fucking-blue eyes locked on to his and John couldn’t look anywhere but at them. For a long moment, they stayed frozen like that, then Bobby collapsed down, half on top of him and half on top of the bed.

They were both breathing heavily and they stayed quiet, just laying there and waiting for their breathing to return to normal. It was only when John felt himself start slightly that he realized he’d been drifting off to sleep. Which, fuck, made a lot of sense when he remembered that he hadn’t slept last night.

“If we fall asleep like this, we’re going to be fucking pissed when we have to clean up tomorrow,” John murmured, despite the fact that his eyes were starting to close again.

“Mmm-hmm,” Bobby replied, sounding just as tired as he was.

Which made John wonder if Bobby’d been up all last night, too. Maybe John should apologize for worrying him. Or maybe not. John was never very good at apologizing. Then again, there were other ways of apologizing. John smirked slightly at the thought.

“What’s so funny?” Bobby asked.

John tilted his head to find Bobby staring at him. “You. Or maybe me.”

Bobby frowned slightly. “You’re not still drunk, are you?”

“Nope,” John replied.

“Kay. Good,” Bobby said, closing his eyes again. “Hey, Johnny? I wouldn’t let Rogue touch you.”

Yeah, it was definitely sleep time for Bobby. “Yeah, well. I wouldn’t let Logan come gunning for you, either,” John replied. “Go to sleep.”

Bobby settled against him and let out a soft, happy sigh, and John’s eyes slid shut. A few seconds later, just as John was falling asleep again, Bobby asked, “Hey, Johnny?”

“ _What_?” John asked, not bothering to keep his annoyance out of his voice.

“Love you,” Bobby said.

And just like that, the annoyance was fucking gone. Not all of it, but enough. “Love you too, Frosty.”

~*~

For a little while, things were awkward. They all still had the same friends, and people weren’t quite sure what to say when Rogue, Bobby, and John were all in the same room. But Rogue began spending more time with Logan, and gradually became completely okay with things, and Bobby was obviously totally happy, and John, well, John was pretty much the same, although now he could kiss Bobby whenever the fuck he wanted.

Both John and Bobby ended up having to move out of their apartment anyway, though, because John’d signed a year long lease at the other place and couldn’t get out of it. And eventually Bobby’d said that, well, they only needed one room anyway, so it wasn’t cost-effective to keep paying rent for a place with two bedrooms. Fortunately, their old apartment managers had been very willing to let them out of their lease, since they had people lined up who were so eager to have the place that they were willing to pay more than what Bobby and John were paying.

So they were back to sharing a room again, which it turned out was infinitely better when they were also sharing a bed. Bobby was very near to graduating, and John was still slowly taking classes, but he had a nice stack of things he’d gotten published in their bookcase, and they still both taught at the Institute every now and then. And John didn’t think too much about his current situation, because when he did, he realized it was way too fucking much like the kind of shit he thought about doing whenever he and Bobby discussed the future as teenagers, the kind of shit he’d still sometimes thought about during his stint with the Brotherhood and gotten pissed at himself over.

Occasionally, John thought about the conversation he’d had with Rogue. He always figured he’d regret that conversation. And sometimes, he did. He didn’t _have_ to have been such a dick to Rogue, after all. He could have been nicer to her and shit (he felt more charitable towards her now that Bobby was pretty damn safely and securely his). But then he thought about how it was probably one of those fucking chain reaction things. Like, if it hadn’t been for that conversation, maybe Rogue wouldn’t have come to bitch at him and he wouldn’t have gotten completely fucking drunk and come up with the brilliant (and that wasn’t a sarcastic brilliant) plan to tell Bobby everything. And since that brilliant plan was what lead to Bobby being his, completely fucking his, well. He wasn’t willing to risk it. For once, he’d gotten back something someone had borrowed, and he was never going to let go.

Someone nudged his arm, then, and he looked up with a glare.

“What?” he asked.

“You want a refill?” Bobby asked.

John glanced over to the waitress standing next to their table. “Oh. Uh, yeah, rum and Coke.”

She took his glass, along with a couple of others, and walked away.

“What were you spacing off about?” Kitty asked.

“Nothing,” John replied. “Just thinking about people who borrow things.” Okay, he was still a dick.

He glanced over at Rogue, expecting her to be pissed, but he couldn’t read her expression. She might not have even been paying attention. The group had gotten together at their favorite restaurant, but Rogue had already told them she’d be leaving early. She was meeting Logan.

“You’re so weird, John,” Jubilee informed him.

He just grinned at her, more a baring of teeth than a smile.

“And that’s why we like you,” Dani added.

John turned his smile onto her. It was mostly a real one this time, though sometimes he wondered if Dani, Sam, and Remy would like him half as much as they did if they’d been around before Alcatraz. John glanced next to him and saw that Bobby was smiling at her, too, in a way that would have made John jealous if Bobby hadn’t just spent fifteen minutes eating his salad with his left hand so he could hold hands with John under the table. Which was stupid and cheesy, and John only put up with it because Bobby’d pout if he didn’t, but still.

The conversations around the table picked up again, and John half-paid attention to some of them but wasn’t particularly motivated to join in. He rarely felt excluded from the conversation, something which had changed from his days at the Institute (especially when Rogue had been there), but sometimes he just didn’t feel like talking, and no one forced him to. Instead, he set up the drink and desert menu as a barrier, and flicked open his lighter behind it. He began playing with the fire, absently forming shapes and figures as his mind wandered.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed (probably not much, since their food still hadn’t come) when he heard Bobby comment, “Don’t draw a heart around them, use a circle.”

John blinked at him. “The hell are you talking about?”

Bobby pointed and John glanced down to see that he’d formed the fire into a pencil shape and burned JA BD into the wooden table. He’d even started to draw a heart around them. Fuck.

“Why a circle?” John asked, pissed at what his stupid brain did when he let it do whatever it wanted.

“Because,” Bobby replied. “Hearts can break, but circles go on forever.”

John stared at him, then smirked. “Seriously, Bobby. You are such a _girl_ ,” he said, but he went back to the line he’d started to draw for a heart and turned it into a circle.

“Says the guy who just doodled our initials in the table,” Bobby replied, grinning at him.

Damn it, John was not going to blush. He was pissed, not embarrassed. And tipsy. Yeah, that was it. Even though he’d only had a drink and a half. Fuck logic. “Yeah, well. You know what else our initials make?”

Bobby stared at the drawing, then shook his head. “No. What?”

John smirked again and picked up his fire pen, writing BJ in the table. Bobby stared at it again, and John watched his face go from confused to surprised understanding. John let go of Bobby’s hand to run his fingers up Bobby’s thigh. Bobby looked up at him, eyes wide, and John winked.

“Gotta go to the bathroom,” John said, standing up. “If the food comes, no one touch mine.”

He sauntered off, and had only taken a few steps before he heard Bobby stammer that he had to go, too, and then Bobby was following him. Obviously, John still needed to teach him a little thing called subtlety. Oh, well. They’d have plenty of time for that. After all, circles went on for fucking ever.

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by the Placebo song _Every Me and Every You_ , if only because I got the idea while listening to it on the bus. The title is also lifted from the song.
> 
> Also posted [here](http://brbsoulnomming.livejournal.com/1108.html) at my LJ.


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